


All the Way Around

by julianbashir



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Georgie Denbrough Lives, M/M, Stanley Uris Lives, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julianbashir/pseuds/julianbashir
Summary: Both Denbrough boys were sick that day in October, and the summer of '89 goes very differently for the Losers. And the summer of 2016. And every season in-between.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Georgie Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. The Shadow Before

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the novel: _But it is perhaps not such a good idea to look back — all the stories say so. Look what happened to Lot's wife. Best not to look back. Best to believe there will be happily ever afters **all the way around** — and so there may be; who is to say there will not be such endings?_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgie Denbrough catches a cold and his brother builds him a boat that never sets sail on the perilous seas of Derry's streets and sewers.

Once upon a time in a small town in Maine, there was a young boy named George Denbrough, Georgie to his friends. And on a very stormy day, not unlike today, Georgie asked his big brother Bill to help him make a boat. After all, they were both home sick and couldn't go out to play in the fast-forming puddles and rivers along the road. Bill always came up with the best stories, and the SS Georgie was sure to get into all sorts of adventures on the high seas, even if the seas were really just the dips and rises of Bill's bedspread.

"You g-gotta promise not t-t-to sneak out with it, Georgie," Bill said. His face was pale and serious beneath a floppy fringe of hair, blue eyes strangely luminous in the odd afternoon dim from the storm. Bill was always serious for a boy of his age, whatever his age at the time may be. Ever since he'd first set eyes on his little brother, Bill had taken on the duties of big brotherhood with a startling solemnity. "You'll j-just be sick longer and st-st-stuck inside with your boring big brother."

"You're not boring!" Georgie insisted, looking offended on his brother's behalf.

"Thank you." A smile tugged swiftly at the corner of Bill's mouth before he managed to hide it. "But you still have to p-promise me. I'd never f-forgive myself if-if-if something I g-gave you made you sick for longer."

"I promise! Oh, I promise, Bill, we can both play with it inside!" Georgie muffled a rattling cough into the fur of his ratty teddy bear. Bill grimaced, but didn't scold him. Georgie was still a little thing, and he'd learn how to cough and sneeze into his elbow in time, just like Bill had. "It'll be almost as fun, Bill, don't you think, and we won't have to get the peregrine stuff from the basement because it won't get wet, anyway!"

"P-paraffin, not peregrine. A peregrine's a k-kind of bird. St-Stan can show y-you a picture n-next time he c-c-comes over. But you're right, we w-won't n-n-need it." Bill blew a final stream of air onto the drying ink declaring the slim paper boat _SS Georgie_. "A fine new ship for a f-fine young s-s-sailor." He held the ship out for Georgie, who dropped his teddy bear onto his quilt and took the ship with slightly unsteady hands.

"Oh, it's perfect! Thank you, thank you!" He lurched sideways and let his brother catch him up in a sideways hug. "Oh, thank you, Bill. I'll take such good care of it and I won't sneak out, just like I promised. Where do you think we should sail her first? Boats are girls, right?"

"Th-that's right." Bill laughed, the noise scraped and halting around his sore throat. "B-boats and ships."

"Awesome! So where should we sail her for her first...wait, what's it called, again?"

"M-maiden voyage," Bill supplied, looking down at Georgie with a broad grin.

"Yeah, that!"

"Well, there's so m-many p-p-places she could go." Bill squeezed Georgie's shoulder with a steadying hand as his small frame was wracked with another bout of harsh coughs. "What about the C-Caribbean to search f-for l-l-lost pirate tr-treasure?"

"Pirates! Oh, Bill, pirates and treasure, that's so perfect I can't even believe it. You always have the best ideas for adventures. Now tell me all about the crew!"

And so Bill and Georgie Denbrough passed a quiet afternoon sailing safe, warm seas in search of treasure instead of battling any storms. Some other unlucky child's face would appear the next day on missing posters around the small town of Derry, Maine. But some children will always be destined for bigger and stranger things than games of make-believe, and the Denbrough boys were two of them.

By the summer of '89, it would become clear that Derry was home to at least six more.


	2. Phone Calls from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Denbrough receives a phone call. _Brothers by blood and blood brothers by choice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning for emetophobia, though the incident is vaguely described.

It was, perhaps, the stress of the production schedule that was getting to him. He'd never had a project come in over budget or over time, but they'd been flirting with the possibility of both for the past week. George couldn't think of another reason why he stared listlessly at his phone as it rang. An unfamiliar number with the 207 area code stayed there no matter how long he frowned at it, a bright accusation lighting the screen.

“You planning on answering that, George, or do you just like the sound of your ringtone?” 

Bill didn’t glance up from where he was furiously paring down a scene. They were supposed to shoot it next week, and George had mentioned offhand that it stymied the momentum of the second act. George never did learn how to keep his mouth shut during shooting when really whatever was bothering him was just a minor problem. It always sent Bill into fits that ended, more often than not, with a far better version, but it drove everyone on the production to tear their goddamn hair out. George was the perpetual terror of every line producer they’d ever worked with. Still, the adaptations out of Denbrough Brothers Entertainment were all the better for it. 

At the first DBE-hosted Emmy’s after party, the female lead of The Attic Room miniseries had gotten gloriously drunk, smacked George in the shoulder with her shiny new award statuette, and told him he was simultaneously the best and worst producer she’d ever worked with and to please talk her out of it if she ever offered to work with them again. Audra and Bill got married six months later, George serving as their incredibly smug best man. She did, to her own dismay, work with them again.

“It’s from home,” George said.

That lifted Bill’s gaze from the screen of his ancient, sticker-covered MacBook. “I thought Ma was still on that Mediterranean cruise with Aunt Rebecca?”

“She is.” George swiped his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi.” The voice was unfamiliar, but it had been almost twenty years since he so much as set foot in the state of Maine. And George was used to unfamiliar voices on the other end of the line. He’d swear that most of Hollywood had his number by now. Bill was notorious for misplacing his phone half the time and for not-so-accidentally leaving it on silent the other half. “I hope this is the right number. I’m looking for George Denbrough?”

“Speaking.”

“Oh!” The voice was startled, but relieved. “That’s, oh good, that’s great. You sound so different, but of course that makes sense. You were so young the last time. Sorry, let me start over. Hi, George. It’s Mike. Mike Hanlon. From Derry? I don’t know if you remember me.”

“Well, hi Mike, Mike Hanlon from Derry. I--” And then it was like someone smacked him upside the head with a two by four, something he’d unfortunately experienced in an on-set accident during the final days of filming _The Black Rapids_. “Jesus Christ.”

George stared at Bill, who was mouthing the name Mike Hanlon with wide eyes.

“P-put it on speaker, Georgie!”

George fumbled the phone away from his ear, pressing uselessly at the screen twice before managing to switch it to speaker mode. He set it on the table between them. “I’ve got you on speaker with me and Bill, Mike.”

“Bill!” Mike’s voice was warm and in his mind’s eye George could see him perfectly, the way he’d looked the day they moved out of Derry.

By then Mike was already shooting up past Bill, and had always been at least head and shoulders above George. In truth George wasn’t that much younger, but in the world of children the gap in their ages had so often yawned between them, an unbreachable chasm.

Mike had an appealing, friendly face. The baby fat was already spilling away to reveal the sharp planes and angles that would doubtless make him one of the more handsome men George had hopelessly wandered after over the years. His big brown eyes always softened a little when he spoke to George. It never failed to set loose the sickening swoop of butterflies in his stomach.

“M-m-Mike! How the h-h-hell are ya?” Bill’s smile was so wide and earnest he looked decades younger. Or perhaps that was just George remembering how small they were, when they were all together last. _All? All who?_

And then George’s heart lurched painfully in his chest. He stared at his big brother--Billy, Bill, _Big Bill Denbrough, hey there Big Billy_ in a Voice he can't quite place, but so familiar, so--as the sense of dread grew and grew, a living, writhing thing in the pit of his stomach. Bill hadn’t stuttered, not in years, not since, not since--

“Well, I’m glad to hear both of your voices, but I'm afraid this isn't a purely social call. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Oh, God. Oh, God, George was going to be sick. The scar on the palm of his hand, _oh God, how had they both forgotten where that had come from. A promise is a promise is an oath. Brothers by blood and blood brothers by choice. An oath is an oath is a promise. Oh God,_ it stung, and he could see Bill look down at his own hand with a startled grimace.

“I’m so sorry, guys. I’m sorry, but you promised. We all made a promise. You have to come. You’ve got to come back to Derry. It’s back.”

George only just made it to the small waste bin in time. His ears rang, but through his dulled senses he could hear Bill agree, could hear Bill saying, “ _An oath is an oath is a promise_ ,” before George’s attention was again occupied with relieving himself of what little was left in his stomach.


End file.
